


Away From Paris

by baguettesandgays



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Future AU, Homophobia, Homophobic Slurs, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baguettesandgays/pseuds/baguettesandgays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DISCONTINUED<br/>Titled and Edited by my good friend Feli.</p><p>France, now called District 381, the year 3014. A new Dictator has sent all of the Homosexuals in 381 to works camps, and included in these camps is one John Egbert. He's been in this camp for 8 years, and he has a perfect discipline record, has never not filled his daily work quota. The guards has no reason to believe that he's breaking the number one rule, no relationships,  with a newbie at that. The guards have no reason to believe that John would escape with his new (and first) boyfriend, by the name of Dave Strider.<br/>Boy were those guards wrong.<br/>But as John and Dave are running away, something goes wrong in their plan, and they're seperated. Dave yells for John to keep running, that he'll meet him in London at noon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> warning: quite a few occasions of the word Faggot being used against John and Dave.

“Go on Fag! Move!” I feel a guard hit me in the back of the head, but I don’t really feel anything. That guard in particular hates me. “Move! Faster! We got newbies!” ooh, something interesting is happening. New people for the guards to hate. Fun. I feel sorry for them though. I think I’m a pretty nice guy, but a lot of the guys don’t take the guards daily bashing very well, so they take it out on us other gays. The only reason they don’t beat me up is because my dad’s a baker, and I’ve been moving heavy bags of flour and sugar and such since I was old enough to walk. One guy tried to hit me, and I decked him right back into the wall. It’s amazing that I still can, they don’t feed us very well here, but they work us to death. I think the only reason I’m still alive is that I’m good. I listen to the guards, do as I’m told, go to sleep when I need to, and always fill my daily quota of work. They feed me a tiny bit extra for that.  
“Name?” a guard questions.  
“Johnathan Egbert.”  
“Serial number?”  
“45413.” I have to glance at where it’s tattooed on my forearm.  
“Your new block is number four, bed 12. You’ll be sharing it with a newbie. Be nice.”  
“Aren’t I always?” I flash a winning buck-toothed grin. The guard glares at me.  
“Get to your clock, Faggot.”  
“Aye Aye, Captain!” and I run off to my new block before I can get smacked. Another reason I’m liked by most guards but hated by some. I quickly arrive at my new block. Not many people are here yet, and bed 12 is still empty. Good. I sit down and pick at the hem of my shirt.  
For a little bit of background, it is the year 3014, the country is what was once known as France. Now it’s just District 381. Some new guy (I never paid attention to his name) became “President” (Aka: Dictator) and, in short and putting it bluntly, said “Hey, homosexuals are useless, let’s give them a use! Let’s put them in work camps!” and because I came out to my dad when I was 13, before the guy became dictator, and word spreads quickly in a small town, government officials came and took me away right before the next school year started, and I have been here ever since. It’s really stupid that I’m here because I’m gay. I mean, it’s better than high school would’ve been, I’ve heard from older gays that the jocks were always assholes, but still. I would get it if I was like, a rapist who happened to be gay, or something of the like, but I was fourteen, for crying out loud. There was one guard who saw me and taught me things I would’ve learned in high school, like algebra and biology (aka THE BEST SUBJECT EVER) so I’m mostly educated. I’m 22, and if I ever get out of here I could go to college. I’m taken from my thoughts by a gentle tap on my shoulder.  
“Uh, sup? I take it I’m sharing a bed with you?” The new gay- I mean guy is blonde, and makes sure his bangs cover his eyes.  
“Presumably, yeah. Feel free to sit.” I answer. He sits on the other side of the bed.  
“Why do you get your glasses, but I can’t have my shades? Assholes...” He mumbles.  
“It’s probably because when I take them off-“ I take them off and everything is blobs “-I become quite literally, a useless fag. I can’t see shit. You are a blob of grey and pale.” He breathes out a ‘jeez, dude’. I slide my glasses back on.  
“Then I guess I’m a useless fag, too. My eyes are sensitive as fuck. At least it’s pretty dark in here.” He slowly looks up and blinks, flipping his bangs out of his face.  
“That was such a douche hair flip, dude.”  
“Oh fuck off. Or according to every guard I’ve encountered, I’ll drag you to hell with me.” It’s only now that I realize his eyes are crimson.  
“Damn.” I mutter. And then I realize how ironic- or Eyeronic- my choice of curse is. “Badum tsss.” I grin. He snorts and smirks. “Nah but seriously. They’re pretty rad. They suit you.”  
“That’s a first. Normally I get “You devil child!” or “Spawn of Satan! Get out of my house!” or most recently, “Demon Faggot, get to your block.”  
“One time when I was really little the local pastor told me that my eyes were too blue to be God’s work, but Satan’s work instead. He locked himself in the church for 5 hours after and I’m pretty sure he was praying that I wasn’t a satanic child.” I smirk at the memory. He laughs.  
“That’s fucked up man. My names Dave, Dave Strider.” He holds out his hand. I shake it.  
“John Egbert. Welcome to the 18th circle of hell on Earth. If you stick around me you should be fine. The guards are normally pretty nice to me. Cause I’m “a strong one, for a homo.” I heard someone say that about me once.” He smiles.  
“I’ll keep that in mind. When do we eat?” I look out the nearest window.  
“Pretty soon. They gotta make sure all the newbies get to remember where their bunk houses are.”  
“Makes sense.” He nods.  
“Did they tell you where you’d be working yet? I work in the blacksmiths shop. Because I can lift a hammer.” I sit back down on the bed, cross legged and back facing the wall.  
“Neat. That’s where I am too. Cause I know swords.” He leans back against the wall. “God I’m gonna get the worst migraines.”  
“Don’t worry. They have tinted goggles. And if you do get a migraine then they have medicine. The doctors are pretty nice, and they might be able to let you keep a pair.”  
“Fuck yes.” He mutters. I smile, looking around the block. It’s pretty full now, and most people are talking with their bedmates like Dave and I are. The buzzer for dinner goes off. Dave starts to get up but I hold him back.  
“Wait till most everyone is out. You’ll get trampled. There’ll still be plenty of food I promise.” He waits. When we do eventually get out and get to the mess hall, a couple of younger gays run pass us and nearly shove Dave into the ground with a shout of “newbie!” Dave catches himself and yells back.  
“Tell me something I don’t know dumbass!” I snort. He scoffs and crosses his arms.  
“Don’t worry about those two. I know who they are. They’ll do that to every newbie within the week. They mean no harm.” I nudge his arm. It occurs to me that he’s really tall. Like 6 feet-ish. And I’m 5 feet and 4 and ¾ inches, according to the last required check-up. The ¾ is important. “So how old are you?” I ask.  
“What, you gonna sell me off?”  
“Dave no one here has any money.”  
“I know. I’m 23.”  
“22. And a half. And my birthdays in April.”  
“Hm. December.” I hum and we enter the mess hall. Most everyone else is already eating. We get our food, stew (aka just tiny chunks of probably beef and potatoes in broth) and a small loaf of bread (of which I get two). “Dude why do you get double the bread?”  
“Because I’ve never once gotten in trouble in the whole 8 years that I’ve been here. I’m a good little faggot.” I roll my eyes.  
“It’s gonna take a lot to get used to hearing faggot every day.” He sighs and sits to my right, sipping at the broth of his stew.  
“You’ll survive. I hadn’t heard it once till I came here and I got used to it within a couple hours.” I stab at a chunk of potato and eat it. The rest of the meal is silent between us two.

Dave and I come to be the Best of Bros within a week. I won’t lie, my favorite thing is waking up, because he super cuddly at night, and I wake up with his arms around my waist. That sounded a lot gayer than I meant but I mean, it works. There is a slight chance that I’ve developed a small crush on him. The smallest of crushes. It’s probably just because I’m lonely and Dave is the first person to actually talk to me since that one short, angry guy got shipped off for punching a guard in the crotch (it was pretty funny, until more guards took Mr. Angry away). I’m in a pretty bad situation, considering that we both work in the blacksmith’s shop, and its hot and glowy and I really want to just kiss my new friend sometimes. But I’ve got a perfect record to keep up, and kissing is banned. They tried to ban cuddling too, but too many people were breaking it, so they gave up enforcing it.  
One night I feel Dave lazily wrap his arms around my waist as normal, but he mumbles something that I don’t quite catch, except that it was 3 syllables. I hum and cuddle into him. Having an actual friend in this hell hole makes it a lot more bearable. It also helps that this friend is tall and people have learned if they try and hurt me they go through to Dave too, and if they hurt Dave they answer to me. Luckily, no one has tried out the theory, but the thought of having Dave there makes me feel so much safer. 

We pause at work one day to cool off and drink some water, and he leans his elbow on my head, while the other hand holds his cone of water. It sends the butterflies in my stomach into overdrive and it’s really stupid.  
“Heeeeey.” He drawls and sips his water.  
“Hello David. May I help you?”  
“Nah, fluffy.” He ruffles my hair and I squeal.  
“It’s not like you’re any better!” I jump to attempt to mess up his hair. He snorts.  
“Shorty.”  
“Asshole.” I defiantly take a sip from my water cone.  
“Indeed I am.” He sets his chin on my head.  
“Ow! Why is your chin so sharp?” I scrunch myself shorter to try and avoid the weapon that is Dave’s boney chin.  
“Because I’m also a boney motherfucker. I’m a twig.”  
“Yeah you are get your sharp ass chin of my head!” he does as told. We get back to work.  
That event is stuck in my head for the rest of the day.


	2. sorry

this mf died im sorry it died with my old computer and i dont have the inspiration to keep writing it but hopefully i'll have a new thing up in a bit

edit march third 2017:  
lol nvm im gonna try again bc im bored at all times might as well im gonna re post tho itll be under "Away From Paris (redo)" so look out i guess


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